


The Punk Princess and the Formerly-Invisible Nerd

by ruff_ethereal



Category: Big Hero 6 (2014), Frozen (2013), Lilo & Stitch (2002), The LEGO Movie (2014), Wreck-It Ralph (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, Gen, Illegal Activities, Nerd!GoGo, Punk!Honey Lemon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-20 04:36:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3636936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruff_ethereal/pseuds/ruff_ethereal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ethel had planned to be invisible in high school, as she had been in middle school, grade school, and even preschool.</p><p>She planned to study, get good grades, and interact with as little people as possible--friends were totally optional.</p><p>And then a punk princess named Honey Lemon sits down next to her and those plans get thrown out the window, shot to death, then set on fire for good measure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mad_half_hour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad_half_hour/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Premeditated Murder](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/106098) by weskette. 



> "Gee," the author said, "we should really work on those HoneyGoGo requests."
> 
> "Yeah," the author's brain replied, "which one do we do, brah?"
> 
> "How about Nerd/Punk? That should be easy."
> 
> "Sure, brah! That was the one where GoGo's the Nerd and Honey Lemon's the Punk, right?"
> 
> "No, I'm pretty sure it was the other way around."
> 
> "Too late, brah, this is a thing now."
> 
> "This is going to be insane, isn't it?"
> 
> "Yeah, brah, but then again, what hasn't been?"

Black combat boots, heavy and bulky, stained with more than a few scuffs, scrapes, and what looked to be the aftermath of a unicorn throwing up on them. Skinny jeans that looked no better. Bright red band jacket cut short just above her stomach, with the gold metal bars polished to mirror sheen.

Olive green eyes behind massive pink glasses with devil horns on the rims; smooth tan skin; silky blonde hair up to her waist with a massive neon pink-streak running all the way from root to the tips.

She strode in like she owned the place, giving everyone bright, radiant smiles; making not-so-subtle winks at the attractive girls in class; every step punctuated by a loud “thump.”

You'd have to be blind, deaf, and miles away from the general area to miss her.

And to Ethel's dismay, she was coming right towards her.

She had plotted and planned her first day at high school so well, too.

She wore the plain white blouse, the black knee-length skirt, and the leather shoes that had practically contoured to the exact shape of her feet. Plain black barrettes held her hair back, as further insurance.

She sat at the very front of the class, far away from the back row antics and conversation, and where people would be highly discouraged to strike up conversation or pass her notes.

She spoke to absolutely no one, feigning ignorance from nearby noise, or offering non-committal grunts, or single word replies that made it clear she wasn't interested in conversation.

And here her plan to be invisible was completely, utterly destroyed by the dreaded unknown variable.

It didn't matter how inconspicuous she looked—just by being nearby, she was going to stand out like a sore thumb by virtue of aesthetic contrast. Already, people were staring and talking, mostly about the girl in the red jacket, pink hair, and the combat boots; the rest about the quiet, bookish girl that they'd somehow never noticed till now.

The Punk Princess and the Formerly-Invisible Nerd.

Ethel kept her eyes firmly on her notebooks as said punk princess—she'd call her Pink, for convenience—sat right beside her, casually hung over her chair like she was posing for a fashion shoot. Ethel could see the tag line already:

“Dare to stand out.”

She hoped Pink wouldn't speak to her. But, as was quickly becoming apparent, the world just had it out for her today.

Pink casually leaned over. She was tall, and Ethel was short and hunched over her notebook, so Pink towered over Ethel's head, and cast a shadow over her notebook. With the ratty quality of the paper and Ethel's own rapidly scratched handwriting, it made the already cryptic formulas and designs look like something straight out of a horror movie, or the next Indiana Jones.

They'd probably be the schematics for the Evil World-Destroying Machine, or the incantations that summons the portal to the alternate dimension of Bowel-Devouring Tentacle Monsters.

“Can I see your bike later?” Pink asked.

Ethel looked up at her, her eyes wide with surprise. “How did you know I own a bike?”

“List of lightweight, aerodynamic metals that have been used for things like airplanes; air resistance formulas with accompanying sketches for designs that reduce it; chart with code names of past designs, distance traveled, and time spent doing so, which equals to—obviously!--speed.” Pink casually poked her notebook, her finger landing on each item she mentioned.

Ethel stared at her, stunned.

“Your little tally of fuel consumption and fuel costs also lets me know that it's a motor bike. If you want, I've got ideas for an experimental fuel—eco-friendly, and much, _much_ more bang to the gallon. Not cheap, mind you, but I'm working on it.”

Ethel kept staring.

Pink smirked. “Yeah, the girl in the red jacket, the pink streak in her hair, and the combat boots is actually a massive nerd, big surprise.” She rolled her eyes. “My name's Honey Lemon! Not my real name, mind you, it's just what everybody calls me.” She pulled back to her seat, and offered her hand.

Her fingers were dainty and thin. Her nails were painted with colourful, cheerful, smiling kittens with blood dripping from their teeth and splattered on their round chubby cheeks.

Ethel warily took her hand. “Ethel.”

Honey Lemon's handshake was firm and friendly. The smile on her face grew, the bright glow she had about her just a little bit brighter. “Mind if I just call you GoGo?” She asked as she pulled her hand back.

Ethel frowned. “Why?”

“Hey, no offense to whoever decided to name you—I think it's beautiful, honestly—but I'd rather call you by a cute nickname so douchesnozzles don't get the opportunity to make fun of you. Name like that is just asking for trouble—and I know you've already had enough of that already.”

Ethel paused, stunned once again.

“Or would you rather I call you something completely different, like Ethanol? It's pretty useful stuff.”

The bell rang and their homeroom teacher stepped in, already starting their “First Day of High School” speech complete with corny, rehearsed requests for the students to calm down.

Honey Lemon smiled and mouthed “We'll talk later.” before turning all her attention to their teacher. Ethel almost spoke up, before they started writing on the board.

It turned out to be their name: “Mr. Felix Fixit, Jr.”

“Now I know you're all excited to be in high school, make new friends, and start on some of the best years of your young lives, but you all have to remember: you're here to learn first and foremost!” Mr. Fixit said as he wrote future test dates, extracurricular activities, and organizations looking for more members.

Little did Ethel know studying and grades were going to be the least of her problems.


	2. Chapter 2

“So yeah. Art.

“Most of you think this class is a waste of time. And I get it. Art… art's anything. You could throw paint on a canvas, or even just throw up on it, and it'd still be art.

“And yeah, art doesn't pay very well either. There's a lot of artists that make a lot of money, and then there's a lot more who don't get anything.

“But art? It's important. It's not about the money, or what other people think.

“It's about you.

“It's about expressing yourself.

“It's about making something so you can show the world who you are, for them to understand you.

“Maybe even like you.

“So today's all about you: I want you to use anything from this class—without hurting anyone or destroying anything!--and make art from it. There's lots of things: we got paint, we got chalk, heck, I even brought out the LEGO bricks.

“And trust me, it is not easy to bring out the LEGO bricks!

“You've got until the end of this period to make art—to show me who you are. Now go.”

The neatly assembled students of Mr. Ralph Wrecket's class broke into chaos. Plastic chairs were knocked aside and over as everyone rushed for the many, many, many artistic mediums spread out all over the spacious room.

GoGo found herself standing aimlessly in the center of the artistic anarchy, unsure of what to do. She looked around.

Several students were standing in front of canvasses on easels or bent over the floor on tarpaulins and cardboard rectangles. They were fighting for brushes and paint, hollering requests for colours, guarding their works from the irresponsible splatters of their neighbours.

One of them was literally trying to throw up on their canvas.

In another area, students either made misshapen mugs and jars, or engaged in a clay war using the pottery wheels as launching mechanisms. The wood, steel, and stone workers caught in the melee were unfazed, sharp and incendiary tools both automated and manual requiring undivided attention.

In a third, students fought for desk space, ink, and pens and pencils. They were bent over several long tables, furiously scribbling on sheets of paper both plain and coloured. Some of them were making good use of the pairs of scissors, glue, and the leftover documents, or old gift wrapping paper.

GoGo sighed and started walking around, trying to find Honey Lemon in the chaos. She hadn't seen the punk princess since homeroom, but maybe she was just late.

“Hiii! I'm Unikitty, and you must be GoGo!”

GoGo turned to the source of the voice. She found herself looking at a diminutive girl with cotton candy pink hair, working up a storm as her tiny hands darted from the boxes of LEGO bricks to a massive prismatic monstrosity that GoGo could only assume was a city.

“How did you…?”

“Oh, Honey Lemon told me all about you! We met in English class earlier, after we both found out we both read _Splatterpunks!”_

GoGo frowned. She didn't relish the idea of someone she just met today already talking about her to other complete strangers.

“Honey said you didn't talk much, but that's okay, I'm pretty sure I can talk for the both of us! You like my city?” Unikitty gestured to her creation.

GoGo looked, and stared for a good minute. She tried to make sense of it, before she quickly realized that the place didn't follow logic in the first place.

Or, it followed a reason and order that could only be understood by unicorn kittens.

“It's… interesting.”

“I call it Cloud Cuckoo Land, my dream city!”

GoGo nodded politely.

Unikitty started pointing to specific sectors of the city.

“Here you can see The Dog, where everyone gathers to make super important decisions like what sort of ice cream should we order for Happy-Unbirthday-Unless-It's-Actually-Your-Birthday-Then-Happy-Birthday! Day!”

“Here you can see the Good Idea Factory, where they produce happy thoughts that promote love, and fun, and just across the rope bridge, the _Bad_ Idea Recycling Plant, where we take all the _not_ happy ones, and take them _deep_ inside where people will never, ever, _ever_ find them, and then turn them into raw materials for the Good Idea Factory!”

“And here you can see the 'Escalator to Whee!', where the citizens take an escalator thirteen stories up before they go back down on the swirly slide! It was originally the 'Stairway to Whee!', but then I realized expecting people to climb thirteen stories on foot was just ridiculous, you know?”

GoGo nodded again, her eyes darting around her for an excuse to leave. “It's, uh… it's a very creative city.”

GoGo could have sworn she saw sparkles and glitter explode from Unikitty right there and then.

“Oh, _thank you_ , you have _no_ idea how happy I am to hear that! All my life, I've gotten nothing but complaints and criticism about my cities—'You can't have a sewage system based on giant alligators delivering the waste to the fertilizer plant and the local park!', and 'Why would you even build a city next to a volcano? And why is the lava made of hot chocolate syrup?', and 'That can't be New San Fransokyo—it's flat!'”

GoGo nodded and forced a smile, then slowly started backing away.

Unikitty sighed happily. “Honey Lemon was right about you, you know? You're a good person!”

GoGo stopped. “She said that…?”

“Yep! She also said you were an engineer, just like me! Isn't that just _awesome?!_ Though, I guess that's the only thing we have in common since I'm Civil, and you're Mechanical; I work with bricks, you work with machines; you step on your tools, it hurts, I step on my tools, it _really_ hurts—like, needing a new word just to describe how much it hurt 'hurts.'”

GoGo blinked. “I… what?”

“I totally want to see your bike, too! If you don't mind, that is.”

“...”

“Can I see your art project, too? I really want to see more of what you've made!”

GoGo frowned. “...”

Unikitty hummed. “You don't have one yet, do you?”

GoGo slowly shook her head.

“Well, why don't you make something out of LEGO, like I did?” Unikitty gestured to the LEGO bricks—they were several more boxes and buckets of the stuff, and they were showing little sign of running out.

GoGo looked at the bricks, then back at Unikitty. “I… I don't know what to build.”

Unikitty giggled. “That's a silly thing to say! Don't you have designs in your notebook for bikes?”

GoGo made a note to talk to Honey Lemon about not telling strangers every last detail about her life as soon as she found her again.

“I do.”

“Then why don't we build them? Using LEGO bricks?”

GoGo looked at the massive piles of moulded plastic, dozens of different shapes and colours. “I don't know where to start.”

Unikitty smiled. “I can help with that. Just tell me what it's supposed to look like when it's finished, and I swear on the fluffiness of the 24/7 Fluff Factory's Fluff, I will make it so!”

GoGo looked at the clock. Time was only ticking down till the end of the period.

She opened her bag and pulled out her designs notebook. She flipped open to one of the pages of speculative sketches—bikes she wouldn't be able to build unless she had access to industrial grade tools and plenty of raw materials—and pointed to one of the more outlandish, “sometime in the next decades or so” designs.

Unikitty studied the blueprints and the sketches on GoGo's notebook for a few moments, “Hmm”-ing and “Uh huh”-ing to herself, before she rushed over to a box of bricks and started digging. She came back with armfuls of LEGO bricks, set them down on a free space near Cloud Cuckoo Land, and went to work.

Watching her build a LEGO creation from scratch was art in itself. Where there once was empty space quickly turned into the base, then a skeleton of a bike, till after only a minute or so of furious clicking and picking, GoGo was staring at a LEGO version of her bike.

“Ta-da!” Unikitty threw her arms at the bike. “Did I get it right?”

GoGo carefully picked it up. Aside from the colours, and a few mismatched curves and angles, it was unnervingly loyal to almost every last detail she'd sketched, like a small-scale model.

“Wait, don't tell me— _nailed_ it, right~?” Unikitty grinned.

GoGo nodded dumbly and set it back down, afraid to break it.

Mr. Wrecket walked by, saw their creations, and whistled. “Wow. Nice bike, and… that's a pretty colourful city.”

“It's called Cloud Cuckoo Land, sir!” Unikitty said, beaming.

Mr. Wrecket carefully scooted around the edges of the table, getting a closer look at both LEGO creations without actually touching them. “Did you two make these by yourselves?”

“Unikitty built both of them.”

“But GoGo here designed the bike!”

Mr. Wrecket looked up and smiled. “Well, these both say a lot about you two, great job. Though, even though collaboration is totally a legit art form, I'd really like it if GoGo built something all on her own.”

“No problem, Mr. Wrecket!” Unikitty gestured to one of the outer buildings of Cloud Cuckoo Land. “Would you do the honours?”

Mr. Wrecket balled one of his ham-sized fists, and tapped the structure on the roof. The whole thing collapsed into chunks, ready to taken apart further and used for other projects.

“Thanks!”

“No problem!” Mr. Wrecket walked away.

Unikitty looked up at GoGo and smiled. “Well, Engineer GoGo, what building will go up in place of Lickety Splits Studio?”

GoGo looked down at the rubble and started picking up parts. She frowned uneasily.

“When I'm stumped for ideas, I always think back to places I've been to, and what I could do better! Maybe you can redesign one of the places you and Honey Lemon hang out at?”

GoGo looked up. “We haven't 'hung out' yet, we just met today.”

“Oh! I could have sworn you two were like best friends forever, the way she talked about you! I thought she was just keeping all the really juicy details for me to find out myself.” Unikitty smiled. “You're really lucky to have made friends with her, you know?”

GoGo smiled back. “Yeah. I guess I am.”


	3. Chapter 3

“This is gym class, people, the great equalizer.

“It doesn't matter what you came in wearing to school today—the cool jacket, the hot new shoes, or the shirt with the funny quote on it. In this class, you are all stripped down to the bare essentials: shirt, jogging pants, and your trainers.

“It doesn't matter if you've got great jokes, you know all the latest gossip, or you can charm the pants off of anyone you please. It this class, all that matters are three things: your body, your wits, and your ability to cooperate.

“It doesn't matter what clique you belong to, who your parents are, what you've achieved before. In this class, all that matters are the times, the numbers, and the measurements that end up on this clipboard.

“It's a tough world out there, people, and you all need to be tougher, faster, smarter.

“I expect you to succeed.

“And if you don't, I expect you to get up and try again.

“For your first exercise, I want all of you to go and form groups of three. Find two people you can trust, who you know have your back, and won't abandon you when you need it the most, because you _will_ need them.

“Move out! Find your best friends! And if you don't have any? Start making them!”

Coach Tamora Calhoun blew her whistle and the students started scrambling all over the basketball court, looking for their future teammates. Friendships were tested as people debated their loyalty to their companions against how much they wanted to survive whatever it was this class was going to throw at them.

“Geeze, the way she said it, you'd think we were going out to war!” Honey Lemon said as she and GoGo stood where they were, amidst the rapidly thinning ranks of students. “Well, I've got you, you've got me, so that makes two of us; let's go find our third.”

“Why do you trust me?”

Honey Lemon stopped mid-step. She spun around on her sneaker and turned to face GoGo, smiling.

“Because I know I can. I've got this sixth sense that lets me know what kind of person you are—and I just know that underneath that aloof, distant personality of yours there's something fierce and loyal—like a _tiger,_ or a _panther,_ or your big cat of choice.”

GoGo looked down at herself. Wide hips, developed thighs thanks to years of bicycle riding, but little to no height or intimidation factor—someone who was, and had been for most of her life, harmless and invisible.

She looked up at Honey Lemon. Somewhere around six feet of lithe, lean muscle, determined and cheerful expression on her face, and an aura that gave her _presence_ —someone who came strode into a room, owned it, and wouldn't let go of her hold without a swift kick between the pants, painful without her boots, _excruciating_ with.

GoGo stared at her friend, at a loss for words.

“There's also a seventh sense that tells me something that's _very_ interesting to me, but it's not important right now.” Honey chuckled and walked off to the mess of students, patting GoGo on the shoulder as she left. “C'mon, let's go find number three! I have a _great_ feeling about that one over there.”

GoGo found the 'one' in question bent over her trainers, struggling to tie her own shoelaces, mumbling and cursing under her breath. GoGo cast a quick glance at Honey Lemon.

Honey Lemon's expression hadn't changed—she was still smiling and looking confident in her feeling.

GoGo decided not to question her. “Here, let me.” She said as she bent down in front of their prospective third.

They turned up their head.

CRACK!

“AGH!”

“Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow...”

GoGo and the other girl both fell back onto the floor, clutching their throbbing heads. If there was one thing GoGo was sure about her, she had one hell of a thick skull and the strength to make a headbutt _hurt._

“Oh, crud cakes, you two alright?!” Honey Lemon said as she hovered over the both of them, a hand held out to each.

GoGo waved her off and picked herself up from the floor.

The other girl clumsily groped around for Honey's hand, and let herself be pulled up—even then, she ended up stumbling forward towards GoGo, thanks to her still untied and tangled shoelaces. Luckily Honey Lemon caught her before another collision could happen.

Wide blue eyes stared up apologetically at GoGo, blush lighting up the freckles on the other girl's cheeks.

“I'm so, so, so sorry!” She said.

GoGo rubbed her still sore head and grunted something that might have been “It's fine.” She stepped well to the side of either of the two, and tried her best not to glare.

“Hey, it's cool, accidents happen.” Honey Lemon said.

“Not with me it's not...” Their potential teammate said. “I swear, I can't go two steps without tripping, breaking something, or hurting someone...”

GoGo shot Honey Lemon a look. Honey gave GoGo a smile back before returning to their potential recruit.

“My name's Honey Lemon! Not my actual name, but, everyone calls me that.” Honey Lemon held her hand out for the other girl.

“Mine's Anna!” She said, taking Honey's hand and shaking it vigorously.

“Pleasure to meet you, Anna!” Honey Lemon took her hand back and discreetly shook the feeling back into her fingers. She gestured to GoGo with her other hand. “This is GoGo!”

GoGo grunted.

Anna gave a weak wave. “Not her real name, either, I take it? I mean, what kind of parents would name their kid GoGo, right?” She paused. “Unless that's actually your name, and uh, I mean, I didn't mean to imply anything bad about your parents like they're--”

“So!” Honey Lemon cried. “We're looking for a third member for our team, want to be them?”

Anna stopped dead in her tracks, and stared at Honey. “You want me? On your team?”

Honey Lemon nodded.

Anna turned to GoGo. “Is she serious?”

“Yes.”

Anna turned back Honey, confused but delighted. “I'd love to, thanks!”

Coach Calhoun blew her whistle. “Alright, everyone, form up with your team! Anyone without a full group, stand beside me, you're getting paired up whether you like it or not!”

Honey Lemon chuckled. “Just in time, too! Let's go!”

“Wait!”

Anna and Honey stopped mid-step. GoGo rushed over, knelt down in front of Anna, and tied her shoelaces.

“Oh, right, shoelaces, thanks!” Anna smiled sheepishly at GoGo.

GoGo cast another look at Honey Lemon, but she was already heading back to Coach Calhoun.


	4. Chapter 4

Coach Calhoun stood at the far side of the gym, looking like a general about to oversee what would be a quick, decisive battle, or a massacre. She held her whistle up to her lips, waiting for the right opportunity to blow it.

“Hey, Anna!” Kristoff yelled from across the line. “Might want to just bow out now, before you end up outing yourself with your own dodgeball!”

“Hah! If there's anyone I'm sending to the bleachers, it's you!”

“I'd love to see you try!”

“Well you better open those eyes wide, so you can see your complete, _utter_ defeat in all its glory!”

GoGo ignored the rest of the jeers and taunting from either side of the basketball court. She looked around at her line, then to her opponents'; Coach Calhoun had given them both a roughly even mix of potential athletes and easy targets while still keeping teams.

There were, however, some students it was impossible to gauge from a glance.

GoGo frowned. She hated unknown variables.

“Hey.” Honey Lemon put a hand on GoGo's shoulder. “Don't worry. We got a solid team. We're going to make it out of this just fine.” She smiled.

GoGo would have said otherwise if Coach Calhoun hadn't chosen that moment to blow her whistle.

Two lines of students rushed toward the center, picked up the dodgeballs, and began the war.

It was a sight to behold from the sidelines and a nightmare to be in the midst off.

Students yelped and screamed as balls came rocketing from every possible angle, as if they were homing in and mocking their pitiful excuses for evasive skills. Several tried to fire back, but their targets were either as elusive as they were vicious, or they were blindsided by a ricochet.

The number of students thinned dramatically within the first minute. Among the survivors, GoGo, Anna, and Honey Lemon, but it was a mixed blessing as they personally saw the effects of natural selection in action.

Outed students scurried to the sidelines, trying to grab seats to watch the chaos turn into a brutal high-stakes match between warriors; every throw was calculated, every dodge like a dance, every face dripping with sweat and brimming with determination.

The basketball court had turned into a no man's land; it was anyone's game as seemingly invincible dodgeball stars were suddenly struck out. Not even the bleachers were safe as one unfortunate bystander found out.

Still, the outed students hunkered down and watched the battle from behind their larger peers, excitedly talking amongst themselves and making bets about who would win, much more who would remain standing when the balls stopped flying.

GoGo was not sure how she survived for so long. It was all a blur of dodging, panting, and the sound of rubber balls hitting soft targets and bouncing off hard walls.

Honey Lemon was graceful as she was lethal. Her long limbs proved to her advantage as she used her long strides to step aside from barrages of dodge balls, her superior reach to grab one of them, and her position to send a counterattack from an angle few expected.

Anna was the complete opposite, but no less dangerous. Her movements were a spastic mix of flowing like water and stumbling about drunk; she didn't aim so much as she picked up or caught a ball and sent it rocketing towards the opposing team, letting the laws of physics turn it into an unpredictable nightmare for everyone on the field.

There were only six people left now. GoGo, Honey Lemon, Anna on one side, Kristoff, and two males GoGo hadn't met yet on the other—Hans Westerguard and Kingston “Turbo” Candy.

Kristoff was the one of the last to be outed, Hans ducking behind him and using him as cover before he launched a dodgeball at Anna.

Anna sent it rocketing right back at Hans, nailing him right in his handsome face.

Kristoff glared at Hans, Hans shoot Kristoff an offended look back.

Anna stuck her tongue out as the two of them retreated to the bleachers. “Told you so, Krist—OH!”

Anna stumbled and fell on her rear after a dodgeball struck her in the head.

“Dirty move!” Honey Lemon cried as she threw a ball at Anna's “killer,” Turbo.

“It's called 'opportunity!'” Turbo yelled back, cackling as they returned fire.

Honey Lemon looked around for another ball, only to find none nearby. Too late did she notice that Turbo already had another ball ready. Her mouth fell open in horror as it came flying towards her.

Time seemed to slow down.

GoGo dashed in front of Honey. She dove in front of the line of fire, throwing up the ball she was holding just before Turbo's hit her. She fell hard on her side, sliding to a stop just in time to see Turbo's face as Honey's ball came flying right at him.

The ball hit home on his chest. It fell to the floor, bouncing a few more times before it rolled off.

All was silent in the gym.

Coach Calhoun blew her whistle, and the cheers erupted soon after.

GoGo smiled. She put her hand to the floor, about to push herself up.

“Wait!”

A hand reached over out to her. GoGo looked up and saw Anna smiling down at her.

“That was pretty awesome.” Anna said as she pulled GoGo back up to her feet.

Honey Lemon walked over, beaming more than usual. “I'll say! I owe you one, GoGo.” She reached over and patted her on the shoulder.

“It's nothing.” GoGo mumbled, looking away.

“That's what I like to see, people!” Coach Calhoun cried. “Determination! Relentlessness! Teamwork! We'll discuss this game next class; for now, all of you, hit the showers before you're late for lunch!”

GoGo stalked away to the crowds heading for the showers before either of them could suggest plans for lunch.


	5. Chapter 5

GoGo noted with great distaste that the cafeteria “Zoology” had already begun.

There was a table for the cool kids, the ones blessed with exceptional genetics, rich parents, and no shortage of self-confidence. They lounged in the golden spot with the closest proximity to the bathroom without suffering its wrath when it opened, a decent distance from the lunch line, and away from the glare of the windows if it were very sunny outside.

At the head of the Royals was Hans Westerguard, a face that would in a few years grace the silver screen and steal the hearts of adolescent females (and some males) everywhere, or make fantastically good profile shots for the magazine covers, business or men's fashion.

The welt on his face, the one left after his defeat at dodgeball earlier, seemed to have become a battle scar to fawn and regale the tale off.

There was, on the opposite end of the spectrum, a table for the outcasts, the ones that did not neatly fit into any of the existing cliques or standards of normality. They were exiled in the furthest corner of the cafeteria, where the fluorescent lights up above did not shine, and all the crappy tables were sent to rot.

So far, there were only two occupants to the Fringe—or rather, one student, and her pet blue… dog… thing.

They were, respectively, Lilo Pelekai and Stitch.

There was a table for the jocks—no uniforms or Letterman jackets just yet, but you could tell the type: ruddy complexions, fit bodies, hanging out with a large amount of persons with similar builds, all talking about the same thing—games, practice, and their respective sports.

To none of GoGo's surprise, Anna Summers and her best friend Kristoff Bjorgman were sitting with their fellow Jaegers, the former happily recounting the latter's defeat earlier. Kristoff ended up having the last laugh when Anna overbalanced her mock throw and ended up crushing her chocolate muffin on her shirt.

The redhead's despair was short lived when the blonde brickhouse pulled out an emergency chocolate granola bar from his back pocket.

Far away from them as possible while keeping the unspoken zoning laws between them and the Fringe was the Realm of the Nerds and the Geeks—RNG, for short. They shared several tables as well as interests, school books, comics, and the occasional laptop littering their area as much as actual lunches.

Conversation included academics, and the latest issue or episode of whatever.

Fred was Lord of the Geeks, guiding his followers from behind a cardboard screen, the one in charge of all the dice, weird figurines, and lunch time campaigns. The Nerds were advised by a Queen, Elsa Winters, the pale figure hiding behind an ice blue hoodie and hunched over her laptop, seemingly dead to the world.

Somewhere close by were the Cloud Cuckoo Landers, a motley group of artists, actors, musicians, writers, and other generally colourful and creative types. They sat at a series of tables that were conveniently close to a large blank space of wall for hosting their work, with good spots to serenade passersby, gain an audience, or a crowd.

Unikitty happily pranced about the area, cheerfully greeting and hailing everyone who passed by, firmly establishing herself as their representative and leader—or as her “subjects” like to call her, their “Princess.”

There were the Punks, the strong-willed, independent thinkers who didn't hesitate to speak their mind or rebel against the system—or really, “a” system, most weren't picky.

Already they'd fractured—closer to Cloud Cuckoo Land was the Candy Kingdom, led by Vannelope Von Schweetz, and closer to the Jaegers were the Gearheads, Turbo's followers and allies.

Vanellope was making a speech after she'd inducted herself as “President” of her group. It was difficult to tell if any of them were listening to the tiny girl with the candy sprinkles and sugar dust all over her sweater shouting about equality, fairness, and kicking the Gearheads' collective posterior. (Metaphorically speaking, of course, though if someone were able to make that literal, it would be rather appreciated.)

Turbo just lounged about in his white tracksuit, confident in his hold over his domain, idly watching his lackeys and allies work and converse.

There were many more cliques and factions to the school, of course, but GoGo had already found a table to sit in—the second furthest and oldest table in the cafeteria, just across the Fringe.

She'd planned to just eat and shut out the whole cafeteria around her, but it was impossible to ignore what Lilo was doing; she was holding what looked like a ragdoll in her hands while buttons, thread, and assorted decorations spilled out of her bag and onto the table.

“Voodoo dolls.” Lilo explained without looking up. “In case anyone in this school needs to be _punished.”_

GoGo nodded and quickly went to minding her own business. She set her backpack by her side, and pulled out her lunchbox.

Both of them had been in use for several years.

The bag carried the wear and tear of lugging items to and fro for a long, long time: stitches and duct tape holding and covering its many rips and tears; a sagging and stretched out shape; and a faded and muddy red colour, a far cry from its glory when it was brand new.

The box's metal was dented but whole, the paint on it long chipped or flaked away leaving behind plain stainless steel. The hinges hadn't rusted off by virtue of regular maintenance with machine oil, the inside still food-safe by much the same treatment with soap, water, and meticulous attention.

And just like it was for those several years, lunch was a peanut butter and banana sandwich, washed down with plain water.

GoGo was about to open her lunchbox when a messenger bag covered in dozens of colourful button pins thumped onto her table. She looked up and saw Honey Lemon, smiling at her and looking hopeful.

“You mind if I sit here, GoGo?”

“I will if you answer my question: why do you keep telling people about me?”

Honey Lemon smirked. “Weird question, but: it's what I do with all my friends—I tell other people about them. That good enough for ya?”

GoGo grunted and Honey Lemon sat down.

“So this wasn't just a 'So You Want To Sit Down Here?' question, right?” Honey said as she flipped open her bag, revealing the colourful contents inside.

GoGo nodded. “Stop doing it, please.”

Honey Lemon hummed. “Okay. I'm sorry for all the people I've already told. I take it you want to tell them about your bike yourself?” She pulled out her own lunchbox, a brand new one covered in larger versions of the bloody kittens painted on her fingernails.

“I don't want you telling people about me in the first place.”

Honey Lemon sniggered. “Sorry, didn't get the memo you were a secret agent, and I had to keep your existence on the low-down. Seriously, though, what's the problem?”

She held up her lunchbox, revealing a row of buttons shaped like kitten noses on the side, then pressed them in a certain order.

“Murder, blood, snuggles, nyan~!” A tinny, cutesy recorded voice said as Honey's lunchbox popped open.

GoGo blinked, sighed, and flipped open the latches of her lunchbox. “It's hard to be invisible when people know who you are. More so if they have a reason to talk to you, like you build bikes.”

“But then it's going to be real hard to make friends if no one knows you even exist.”

“And what if I don't _want_ friends?!”

BANG!

GoGo flipped the lid to hard and the metal crashed onto the table. Both women flinched. GoGo mumbled an apology.

“I've done just fine without them all my life...”

“And yet here you are, eating lunch with me, a friend.” Honey Lemon pulled out a thermos—plain coloured, and bright pink.

“You just keep forcing yourself on me whether or not I want to. I think that just makes you a stalker.” GoGo said as she pulled out her plain, purple plastic bottle of water.

Honey Lemon laughed. “Point. Seriously, though, you're going to _need_ friends—high school is vicious, and high school students more so. Coach Calhoun is right—you're going to need someone who has your back when the chips are down.

“And I'm going to be one them, whether or not you want me to.” Honey Lemon punctuated her sentence with the twist of her thermos' lid, and the little hiss of its vacuum seal releasing.

GoGo scowled and picked up her sandwich. “And what if I won't do the same for you?”

Honey Lemon grinned as she set the lid down like a cup. “You already did, back in gym class, remember? You didn't _have_ to take a dodgeball for me but you did it anyway—you even tossed me up a ball so we could win. That's what friends do, right? Help each other out because they both benefit?” She poured herself some steaming hot tea.

GoGo looked away and bit into her peanut butter sandwich.

Honey Lemon hummed to herself as she pulled out her own sandwich: “Peanut butter, apple slices, with a sprinkling of cinnamon for some extra kick. If you want, we can trade halfsies?”

GoGo made no response, and kept on chewing.

“Suit yourself!” Honey Lemon bit into her own sandwich.

They spent the rest of lunch in silence, picking up their school books and studying once they were done eating. The bell rang for the end of lunch, they put their things back in their bags.

“See you, GoGo!” Honey Lemon waved as she walked away, her bag slung over her shoulder once more.

GoGo grunted and quietly slipped out of her seat. She headed to one of the cafeteria's side exits, where the crowds of moving students were thinner.

It'd take her longer to get to her next class, but at least she'd encountered fewer people.


	6. Chapter 6

“History, as they say, is written by the winners!” Professor Weselton said.

“Conquerors, dictators, even just petty rivals with money and a voice in the papers—everyone's changed history somehow, tweaking a few facts, removing a few pesky little details, and sometimes, throwing out the old for a _much_ better new.

“Most of what we consider as history—hard facts, infallible, incontestable and unchangeable—is actually false, made up, or just plain wrong, wrong, wrong!” He started waving his arms in the air, as if fighting with a swarm of bees.

“So why study history, you may ask, if we're not even certain it's true?” He paused, smiling at his students.

“Simple: so you don't end up like the losers.”

The class had mixed reactions. Most were, as you would expect, bored or occupied in something else entirely; others had their notebooks and books open with varying levels of effort planned for actually learning; while a scant few were listening intently.

“And speaking of losers, let us start this year with one of my favourite lessons from history: 1942, the Fall of Singapore, one of the greatest defeats of the British forces at the hands of the Japanese! Who can tell me what the British did wrong, and what the Japanese did right? Two answers, two people!”

Three hands went up. One was GoGo, the other was Hans sitting beside her at the front, the third was Elsa, hidden at the backseats, face obscured by her ice blue hoodie.

Professor Weselton chuckled. “Well, as they say, something is better than nothing! Ladies first—let us start with the comely young woman up in front! Stand up, tell us your name, and your answer for the British!”

GoGo did as ordered. “Ethel Tomago. Their naval guns were pointing the wrong way—out to sea.”

Professor Weselton clapped. “Wonderful! You may sit down, Ms. Tomago.”

GoGo grunted and sat down. She made notes to go back to her research on said battle.

“Now, the mysterious lady hidden in her veil of blue! The same, please!”

They stood up. “Elsa Winters.” She said, just barely loud enough to hear. “The Japanese rode bicycles into battle, and stormed them by land, instead.”

Professor Weselton beamed. “It warms my heart to know that not everyone has let the summer cool off their passion for learning, nor the excitement of embarking on high school take priority over their studies! Sit down, Ms. Winters.”

Elsa nodded, said “Thank you.” so quietly it was heard only by her, and went back to sitting down and making herself look as small and unidentifiable as possible.

“Now, to be fair to our third, I propose a bonus question: can you tell me the reason why the British pointed their guns out to sea, and never thought of defending their inland fortifications? I already know your name, but for your classmates' sake, please.”

The redhead with the face destined for the silver screen, TIME, or GQ stood up proudly, as if he were about to accept an Emmy award or give a rousing speech. “Hans Westerguard. They were overconfident in their naval defenses, and thought that was enough to deter all attacks.”

“Not precisely what I had in mind, but a great answer nonetheless! Sit down, Mr. Westerguard, and thank you, all three of you, for your answers!”

Hans sat down looking smug and very pleased with himself.

“Now, class, what is the lesson we may glean from this gaff? Don't answer, I'll tell you: expect the unexpected, never rest until you have covered every avenue you possibly can, and even then, be prepared to toss all of your plans out the window and form new ones by seat of your pants!

“The world is a dangerous, unpredictable place. Things can change at a moment's notice. Surprises abound around every corner, and you will never know what they are—if you did, then they wouldn't be surprises, would they?” He chuckled.

Professor Weselton grinned. “And as for your first surprise in this school year: at the end of this class, there will be a quiz that counts for 6% of your total grade. Exempt are Ms. Tomago, Ms. Winters, and Mr. Westerguard.”

The whole class stopped dead in their tracks. Moments later, a chorus of groans, protests, and defeated sighs filled the room.

“Oh, posh! Don't be so surprised—pop quizzes happen all the time! And it would do you all well to study your lessons, and prepare for anything I might be able to throw at you; you never know when answering a question or getting a high mark in an activity might grant you a generous reward such as free grades.”

Hans grinned, looking like he was struggling very, very, very hard not to gloat.

Elsa smiled from underneath the cover of her hoodie.

GoGo just nodded, made a note--”Prof is a sadist, but generous.”--and listened as Professor Wellington started the lesson proper.

The last third of the class was dedicated to studying—purely private, which fit GoGo just fine; there were too many classmates looking at her with crushed hopes on their faces. She spent the rest of the class and the quiz studying and making notes.

* * *

“Quite the disappointing turn out—most of you failed! You should all try to be more like Ms. Winters, Ms. Tomago, and Mr. Weselton—studious, prepared! Perhaps at the end of your time here in high school, you'll see one of them up on a podium delivering a rousing speech as they're awarded that most coveted title—Valedictorian!”

Most of the class had lukewarm reactions, if they weren't completely unaffected like GoGo was. She didn't care to see or know what the others thought as the bell rang.

Except whoever was watching her like a predator eying their prey, planning their attack from as they lounged in the shadows or the tall grass.

GoGo decided to ponder it later; her next class just happened to be as far away from Professor Weselton's as possible.

If it was any consolation, it was one she knew she was going to excel at.


	7. Chapter 7

“Welcome to Shop Class, everyone! I'm Felix Fixit, Jr., and I'm going to teach you all that whatever it is that breaks—your bicycle, your car, or even just your desk—well, by golly, you can fix it!”

He raised up his favourite hammer, the tool shining almost as much as his smile.

“Today, I want you all to get familiar with the tools of the trade; every last wrench, every last machine, and even every last bolt, nut, and screw in this room has been given a super helpful card telling you all about them and the fun projects you'll soon be making with them!

“And I'd just like to remind everyone that though the school allows you to work on your own vehicles and personal projects, my class is _not_ for free repairs and tune-ups!

“Somewhere, out there, is a mechanic that can do the job, and I'd love it if you patronize them! I'm also required to tell you that the school waives all legal liability if you damage a car or bike not owned by the school, or if you're injured while working on them.

“That's it, for now, everyone; have fun learning! I'll be right here if you need me for anything.”

“Hey, Mr. Fixit, could you check out my car?” A student said. “It's been making this weird noise for months, I don't know what's up.”

Mr. Fixit smiled. “Of course!”

And off he went, to a free checkup that eventually turned into a free repair job.

GoGo ignored most every single workstation and the information cards in favour of the vehicle service bay. There were already a few stock and donated cars owned by the school waiting for examination and tinkering by students, and many more cars and bikes clearly owned by the students waiting just past them.

Some took advantage of the machinery and the tools and set to work on their rides; others begged someone more technologically gifted for help.

GoGo kept on walking till she found one of the few free stations, their tools and their machinery untouched. She flipped open one of the toolboxes and started taking an inventory of its contents.

There was a snowball's chance in hell that she'd ever bring her bike here, but it didn't hurt to keep it in mind in case of emergency.

“Hello.”

GoGo flinched and nearly dropped a wrench. She looked up and right into the grinning face of Vanellope Von Schweetz.

She wasn't much bigger in person—in fact, they were only face to face because Vanellope had climbed onto the worktable. The woman definitely had presence, though, an aura of self-confidence that could not be ignored… though that might have just been because of her blatant disregard for personal space.

GoGo put the wrench down and stepped back a few paces so their faces weren't inches away from each other.

“What do you want?”

“I want you to work for me.”.

“No.”

Vanellope was unaffected. “You _sure?”_

“Yes.” GoGo turned around on her heel and went to the adjacent worktable, one that didn't have a diminutive punk on top of it.

Vanellope stood up. “Aw, c'mon! Think about it: you're going to be building and designing faster, better machines anyway, why not get paid for it?”

“I'm not interested.” GoGo undid the latches on a different toolbox.

“Not even if I say I'll let you play around with my car, full reign?” Vanellope smiled and batted her eyelashes.

“I don't build cars.” GoGo said as she flipped it open.

“Well, bikes aren't that different, are they?” Vanellope sat on the edge, her legs dangling over it. “Come on, you're missing out on a great opportunity!”

GoGo flinched.

“Oh, wait, crud, _Turbo_ delivered his own pitch to you already, didn't he?” Vanellope recoiled at the mere mention of his name.

“No. That's what he said when he took out one of my teammates in dodgeball today.” GoGo said as she started pulling open compartments and checking the tools inside.

“ _Guh,_ even _worse.”_ Vanellope stuck her tongue out. “I knew I should have used a different word or something… anyway, I'm just saying: think on it.” She reached into one of her back pockets and pulled out a card, and handed it over.

GoGo took it and examined it.

**Vanellope Von Schweetz**

_San Fransokyo's Best Racer—The_ Real _One_

It was bubblegum blue with white text, colourful sprinkles on the border. There was a huge smudge of chocolate brown covering most of the text, which GoGo thought was a waste of ink until she realized it was actual chocolate.

And sticky, too.

Vanellope smiled sheepishly. “Yeah... sorry about that! Accidentally left a chocolate bar in the same pocket. Cards are expensive, too, and I'm just not made of money.” She waved goodbye, hopped off the worktable, and walked away. “Anyway, think about it!”

GoGo pinched the card between her fingers, in one corner that wasn't stained with melted candy. She debated where exactly she was going to put it, because it sure as hell wasn't going into her own pockets.

“Oh, and I want to see your bike, too!” Vanellope yelled before she was lost in the din and the hubbub of the shop.

GoGo sighed, and stuck the card in the notebook her father had made her reserve for clubs and “social activities.”

She wasn't going to use it anyway.

GoGo went back to checking the tools. She was just about to move onto the drawers when someone else decided to interrupt.

“Want some candy?”

GoGo turned to the voice, and saw a bag of candy, the multicoloured treats inside glowing enticingly. Their owner, less so.

“They're my family's own products, so you know it's good stuff!” Turbo said as he shook the bag. “We aren't named 'Candy' for nothing!”

GoGo frowned and slowly pushed it away. “I don't eat candy, thanks.”

“Don't eat candy?! Well, whatever pleases you, but just know that you're missing out on some _very_ good candy.” Turbo chuckled as he took his bag back and popped some of his own treats into his mouth. He smiled and hummed as he chewed.

GoGo sighed. “What do you want?”

“Straight to business, aren't we?” Turbo chuckled. “Well, that's engineers for ya!”

GoGo frowned and silently asked him to get on with it.

“I want you to work for me! My card:” Turbo said, pulling out a card similar to Vanellope's.

GoGo took it and read it.

**Kingston “Turbo” Candy**

_San Fransokyo's Best Racer_

Unlike Vanellope's, Turbo's was simple and straight to the point: white background, plain black text, with some in red for visual interest. It also wasn't coated in candy residue of any sort, but that was beside the point.

GoGo sighed. “No.”

“Oh, I do so encourage you to reconsider! I think you'll find working for San Fransokyo's best racer is a fantastic opportunity for experience, and a great reference for future work—not to mention, you'll find that I am _very_ generous with compensation!

“Perks of being the child of a Candy Empire.” Turbo chuckled.

GoGo squeezed her eyes shut and counted to ten. “Look, I don't want to work for you, for Vanellope, or anyone else! Thanks for the offer, but I'm good.” She slipped the card in with Vanellope's, and made a note to get rid of both later.

“Testy, testy!” Turbo clucked his tongue. “Would this sour mood happen to be over the events of gym class earlier?”

GoGo didn't answer.

“You're still smarting over that?” Turbo laughed. “That, my dear, was _war_ —nothing personal at all! If it hadn't been me, it would have been someone else—it's what happens when you let your guard down, you know?”

GoGo shook her head. “Whatever.” She went back to the drawers.

“Always know that my offer still stands, Ms. Tomago! It's never too late to come work for the side that tastes sweet, sweet victory!” Turbo shoved a handful of candy into his mouth and walked away humming.

GoGo groaned. “What is _with_ this school…?”


	8. Chapter 8

“Chemistry! Building block of everything, very important.

“Also very dangerous! Lots of chance of explosion, poisoning, possible death—also leaving terrible, _terrible_ stains on clothes! Have lost _many_ perfectly good lab coats this way.

“I know many of you uninterested in class, but haven't become a high school science teacher without knowing that at least one of you is _too_ interested in subject!”

To Dr. Jumba Jookiba's credit, he didn't look at Honey Lemon directly.

Honey Lemon herself was eying San Fransokyo High's extensive amount of laboratory equipment with a suspect smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye.

GoGo kept on listening to the good doctor's intro, casting cautionary glances at her lab partner from time to time.

“Now, equipment very many, chemical stock extremely large, laboratory very wide; impossible to herd teenagers, too like cats, so start 'hanging out' or studying equipment—but please, keep hubbub and antics to--”

“Dr. Jookiba! I think I got my fingers stuck in these test tubes!”

Dr. Jookiba closed his eyes and clicked a stopwatch on his desk. He opened them again, looked at the time. “New record...” He mumbled to himself before he lumbered off to a student whose fingers were stuck in eight different test tubes.

The rest of the class broke off and proceeded to cause a rather large hubbub and get into more antics, ensuring Dr. Jookiba would be busy for the rest of the period and beyond. A scant few did make an honest effort to study the equipment and make notes.

GoGo was about to do just that when she noticed Honey Lemon pulling some bubble-wrapped items from her bag.

“A couple of things I need for an unofficial first day experiment—you aren't going to tell on me, are you?” Honey Lemon gave a small, hopeful grin.

GoGo looked at her, then down at the now unwrapped containers—they were chemical jars and bottles. She couldn't pronounce any of the clearly printed names on the labels which was reason enough to worry.

GoGo looked up at Dr. Jookiba. Test Tube Student still had their fingers stuck, but now there was a group of Cloud Cuckoo Landers trying to make music out of the glass equipment, and the science teacher decided to attend to that before the situation could deteriorate.

Test Tube Student protested.

“Will not lose fingers due to lack of blood circulation for while yet!” Dr. Jookiba replied.

GoGo turned back to Honey.

“I _promise_ you it's safe. Though, I _also_ promise you I won't hold it against you if you _do_ tattle on me.”

GoGo had never heard the word “tattle” used seriously since grade school, and she wasn't about to start now, either. She discreetly moved her own aged backpack about on the table, hiding Honey Lemon's chemicals and most of her activities from view.

Honey Lemon squealed quietly. “Thanks! I owe you a big one for this, GoGo.”

GoGo resisted the sudden, irresistible urge to smile. “Don't mention it. Really, don't.”

Honey Lemon nodded. “If anyone asks, you had absolutely nothing to do with it.” She started unscrewing and uncapping the containers.

GoGo watched her work. She'd seen Honey Lemon at gym class, graceful and deadly, but here, in the chemistry lab and without the threat of getting creamed by a dodgeball, she was something else.

Honey Lemon's fingers flew over the containers and bottles, grasping them, shaking them, and pouring them into the main beaker in careful, precise amounts. She didn't stop for even a second, one movement smoothly flowing into the next like a dance she knew by heart.

Inside the beaker, colourful liquids, gels, and the occasional pinch of powder or cube found their way in. The chemicals pooled in the bottom, steadily rising higher and higher, its colours changing constantly, some gentle fading in like a gradient, others dramatic explosions into a new hue.

“And now, for the secret sauce.” Honey Lemon quietly announced as she held a tiny dropper atop the beaker's mouth, the contents gently roiling inside.

One tiny, almost imperceptible drop of fluid plunked onto the surface of the mixture.

The whole thing started fizzing and bubbling.

“It's not that bad, but I'd duck, if I were you.” Honey Lemon said as she grinned and slowly sank beneath the level of the tabletop.

GoGo quickly dropped to the floor and held her head down.

_Boom._

For lab explosions, it was actually rather sedate. The table shook, yes, the class stopped dead in its tracks, yes, but the beaker was completely whole and undamaged, as was everything in its surrounding area.

The aftermath actually looked quite pretty—the stew inside had turned into a prismatic vapour, a rainbow of wispy trails rising up into the air before the ventilation system sucked them in and whisked them away.

Dr. Jookiba was unamused. “Who responsible for this?”

“I am!” Honey Lemon said confidently, almost happy.

Every head turned. Surprise were on some faces, others were completely unaffected. Murmurs filled the air.

“I am, too!” GoGo cried.

This time, the class was stunned. Talk almost immediately erupted among the students--”It's always the quiet ones.” in some form in most of their conversations.

Dr. Jookiba shook his head, and abandoned yet another potential disaster still in progress—a couple of students sending sodas, and other assorted liquids up the tubes of and condensers of some lab equipment that had been set up for display purposes.

“Both in Big Trouble! BIG violation of lab protocol! Should tell me what chemicals brought into lab, details of experiment for next time!”

The two of them blinked. “Next time?”

Dr. Jookiba smiled. “Better have them in lab, where can supervise and advise, than in meth lab in dingy shed somewhere. Only after school, will need me for access, but always here anyway, so no problem.”

Honey Lemon quickly came out of her shock, grinning even wider than before. “Thanks, Dr. Jookiba!”

“No problem, is my job. Just no destroying lab equipment, or permanent damage to surroundings.”

“You got it, Doc!”

“Also no calling me 'Doc.'”

“Yes, Dr. Jookiba!”

GoGo came out of it after Dr. Jookiba had already lumbered away. “Well, I guess we know where you'll be hanging out after school.” She said flatly.

“Mhmm! Except today, because I still want to see your bike!”

GoGo winced. “That's one hell of a memory you've got.”

“Can't have a career in chemistry without it!” Honey Lemon hummed. “Helpful for keeping track of how many things I owe you—you're up to three now, two regulars, and a big one, so whenever you want to spend those, I'm game!”

GoGo looked away. “Just forget about them.”

“I will once you stop doing things for me! You didn't have to share the blame with me, you know—I already had five different speeches planned depending on how angry Doc was.”

GoGo stared at Honey for a moment, before looking back to the table. “I didn't tattle on you, that makes me to blame, too.”

“Not in my book, you're not. You know, for someone who doesn't want friends, you're doing an awful job of it!”

GoGo didn't reply.


	9. Chapter 9

GoGo had hoped she could scream out of the parking lot before Honey Lemon could find her—she could easily have excused it as suddenly remembering an urgent after school errand, no harm done.

But, her luck for this day had yet to fail her—none of the people she'd become acquainted with earlier took the bus.

“Oh, hey GoGo!” Anna waved. “You need a ride home? There's plenty of space left in Kristoff's Sled—what we call his pickup—and if you've got a bike, we can totally throw it in the back; there's plenty of room there. Don't sit _there,_ though, because trust me, truck-bed seat is a lot less cooler when you're actually sitting in it!”

“No thanks, I'll take the bike.” GoGo said as she passed by.

“Eh, suit yourself!” Anna climbed into the backseat of Kristoff's massive, worn, and battered pickup-truck.

Vanellope snorted. “Maybe it's because she doesn't want to be seen riding in something _lame_ like Kristoff's giant hunk a' junk—no offense, Kristoff!--”

“None taken!”

“--And ride in a _real_ car!” Vanellope affectionately patted the hood of her vehicle. “Presenting: the Candy Kart!”

GoGo couldn't resist looking.

What she found was a hodgepodge of many different vehicles' bodies chopped up and welded together to form one complete car.

None of the colours matched—GoGo was pretty sure some of the “paint” on it was unidentifiable stains that would not be removed.

The headlights did not match, either, the inside seats were obviously taken from different cars—the backseat was cut in the middle, two very different styles for each half—and if GoGo looked under the hood, she wouldn't be surprised to see the internal workings had been salvaged from quite a lot of sources, too.

At the very least, the wheels and the rims were all the same.

“Eh? Eh?” Vanellope waggled her eyebrows, and gestured to her car.

GoGo resisted the urge to look in horror at the vehicular child of Dr. Frankenstein. “… No thanks, I can't leave my bike alone.”

Vanellope snorted. “What, afraid someone's going to salvage it for parts? It's never happened to me or anyone I know, trust me!”

GoGo didn't make the obvious retort. She made it past the rows of parking spaces for cars and finally made it back to the bike racks, where regular bicycles and motorcycles shared space.

“Hiii!”

GoGo flinched, and turned. She saw Unikitty wheeling out a very, very, very pink bicycle out.

“Want to ride home together, GoGo? Or, at least, for how long I can keep up, since you ride a motorcyle? I can pedal really, really, really fast if I really wanted to! Though, I live close to the school so it might not be that long anyway...”

“No thanks, Unikitty, I don't want you straining on my account.”

“Okay!” Unikitty straddled her bike, and stared out at the motorcycles still parked. “Which one of these is yours, anyway?”

GoGo debated going up to a random bike and claiming it was hers. But then she realized that would mean having to wait for the others to leave, risking the actual owner coming up, and that the lie would have to be perpetuated every single day of her life.

So she went up to her bike and half-heartedly gestured to it.

“It's this one.”

Then she sighed, and closed her eyes. “Three… two… one...”

“Oh, _wow!”_

“Holy _crudcakes_ , that's your bike?!”

“And I thought the model we made was cool!”

“Gotta admit, GoGo, I wasn't expecting you to have a ride this awesome!”

GoGo didn't need to open her eyes. The distinctive “thump-thump” on the pavement was enough.

“Then again, we've all just been full of surprises today, haven't we?” Honey Lemon chuckled.

GoGo opened up the rear seat and pulled out her helmet. She silently cursed, once again, that the fastest bikes always tended to have the most eye-catching designs.

“And before you ask, no, I don't want a ride back home; I figure my family seeing me ride up on the back of a stranger's crotch rocket is not going to fly well. And after the first day of school, too!”

GoGo grunted and strapped on her helmet.

“You know, since your engine's probably the most efficient that's possible today, that special fuel I mentioned might have even _more_ bang than I originally thought.”

“No thanks, Honey, I need to go home right now.” GoGo bent down started undoing the lock.

Honey Lemon shrugged, and smiled. “Just keep it in mind, then! My offer still stands—especially for good friends!”

GoGo didn't reply and kept working. She caught the beginnings of a conversation between Honey Lemon and Vanellope as she pulled the bike out of the rack, and started the engine.

“Wait, you said something about special fuel?”

“Yep! My own design. Environmentally friendly, _and_ lets you go _much_ faster than on regular gas.”

“Name's Vanellope Von Schweetz. I'd like you to work for me. My card.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Vanellope, I'm Honey Lemon! Not my real name but—why is this card _sticky?”_

“Accidentally left a candy bar in my pocket, now please, keep talking...”

GoGo roared off and out of the parking lot.

* * *

“How was your first day in school, Ethel?” Her father asked her as she came through the front door of their apartment.

“Okay.” GoGo replied, walking as fast as she could to her bedroom door.

“Made any friends?”

“No.” GoGo opened and shut the door before her father could get another word in.

She spent the rest of the night studying, planning, and working on her designs, all in the assumption that tomorrow would be absolutely normal, and completely uneventful, if peppered with some colour by Honey Lemon and the rest of her acquaintances.

And for the next three days, they were.

Then everything went downhill from then.


End file.
